Snippets
by greeneyedgirl105
Summary: Snippets from Del and Zuko's vacation. I highly reccomend you go back and read Shot of Faith before reading this. This is to get my creative juices flowing before I start on Recovery, the sequel. As always, reviews appreciated! :D
1. Chapter 1

**So I'm back. Hopefully. As my creative juices have stopped flowing, this is too kind of restart them before I dive into my redo of Recovery, the sequel to Shot of Faith. If you haven't read SoF (my new self-determined acronym for Shot of Faith) yet, then I highly reccomend going back and reading it, otherwise this story will probably be Greek to you. (Give it up for cliches!) Anyway, please review because even if I am only doing this to get back into the swing of things, I do write it for you lovely people and I figured it would be nice to get some insight on what Del and Zuko do on vacation.**

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><p>The owner of the shop looks up as his door opens and two strangers dressed in full black cloaks walk in. He swallows nervously at their menacing figures, but they simply slide into the booth nearest the door. He watches his only employee, his youngest daughter, begin to nervously walk towards the customers to take their orders, but he catches her arm and shakes his head at her, approaching the strangers himself.<p>

As he approaches, one of the strangers shakes back their hood, and the owner halts as honey-colored hair spills out, framing the face of a pretty young lady with vibrant green eyes. She murmurs something to her companion, who replies back tersely. Finally, the owner is close enough to distinguish their words. The girl pleads, "Zuko, the point of a vacation is to relax."

The other cloaked person, Zuko, replies, "Not relaxing is what has kept me alive." The girl starts to reply, but then the owner is by the table and they both fall silent. Zuko turns away from the owner, sliding down in his seat. The owner can't see his face, but can tell that the man is sulking by the wrinkle of his nose and the curve of his back.

"What can I get for you?" the owner asks in a slightly tremulous voice. The girl with the unnatural hair smiles gently at the owner, who notices how long and black her eyelashes are, and how her cheeks have a natural pink glow to them.

"Just a green tea for me, please," the girl chirps. The owner starts to turn to Zuko, but the girl just shakes her head. "Oh, he hates tea."

"I don't hate it. I'm just sick of it," Zuko mumbles. The owner nods and begins to walk away.

"See, Zuko? He didn't even recognize my hair, and _everyone _knows it by now. I'm telling you, this place is so remote they probably didn't even know a war was going on," the girl whispers to the sulking man. Then the owner walks back into his kitchen and can no longer hear them. He tries to make their brew quickly, curious to eavesdrop on their conversation longer. Of course he, and the other islanders, know that there was a war, and that it is now over, but they were so unaffected by it. He begins to wonder if Zuko and the girl with honey hair are criminals on the run.

His daughter tries to take the cup of green tea from him, but he shoos her away, ordering her to sweep up the filthy back room. He sweeps out of the kitchen, disappointed to see that his enigmatic customers are no longer absorbed in conversation. Zuko's hood is still up, and his arms are crossed. The angle of his body makes it clear he is not in the mood to talk. The girl has her elbows propped up on the table, her head in her hands. She sighs deeply, but when she sees the owner with her tea her face brightens considerably.

"Thank you!" she coos, pressing the proper amount of money into the owner's hand. "Also, I believe Zuko has changed his mind. He'd love a slice of pound cake." The owner smiles and nods, also telling them about their half off flour rolls. The girl politely declines, and the owner backs into the kitchen. The pound cake is sitting on the counter, already sliced, so the owner simply lifts a piece onto one of his nicer plates.

He's thrilled to see that the girl is talking again. He cannot hear her until he has stepped closer to their table. "—if you're going to be like this," she says grouchily. This time, when he sets down their order, she does not thank him, simply hands him his money without looking at him. The owner walks slowly away, hoping to catch more of their conversation.

He is not sure, but before he walks back into the kitchen, he thinks he hears Zuko mumble, "I'm sorry."

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><p><strong>So there you go. Most of them will be short like this but I hope you enjoy. Review!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**yay... i love writing again :D REVIEW**

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><p>The people on the beach just stare. And stare and stare and stare.<p>

And for the first time since she has become a hero, it bothers her. She excuses herself from under his watchful amber gaze and sprints away to a nearby changing room. She slams the wooden door shut and locks it just as a sob breaks up from her throat.

She pounds her fist against the wall, making the entire tiny shack groan dangerously. She doesn't care and does it again before sobbing louder and sliding down the wall, crumpling in the corner and shaking furiously.

Don't people have any consideration anymore? Since when is it okay to openly stare at anyone different? Don't they have their own lives to go on with? Go swim in the damn ocean! Play with the stupid sand! Burn your skin under the scorch of the sun! Just. Look. Away.

What's worse was _his_ gaze. Not staring at her hair, but at her face, revealing disappointment. Disappointment that she still cares about something so trivial. Disappointment that she cannot be as strong as him. "Well we can't all be as strong as you!" she shouts, knowing he can't hear her. "We can't all be as bloody heartless!"

He's disappointed that she can't bear it when he can. People stare at him, at his face, at his visible reminder of his worst years. But they stare with a sort of reverent respect. The coast isn't like the island, where no one recognized their faces or their names. Everyone knows them here. And while in in the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom urban areas, even she is respected, these rural and touristy areas afford people the chance to stare. To gape openly.

How would they like if she were to go up to them and stare their face or their hair or their clothes with that critical look. She knows what they are thinking.

_Freak._

Not that their thoughts is any excuse for her to ruin their perfectly good day. But she is crying now, and crying hard. It has been years since she cried over her hair. Years. She must have been thirteen. Her relationship with her father was already ruined, but her mother, in a rare moment of tenderness, had not sent up a servant to shut her up, but had come up herself instead.

Her mother had gathered her into her arms. She had stroked her hair (that unnatural curse!) and wiped away her tears. "They are fools," she had whispered. "They do not recognize true beauty."

Of course, her mother is no longer here to comfort her. Her mother is dead.

The tears come harder at this thought, at the injustice of it all. To have been born a freak, to have been born into a family highly intolerant of freaks, and to have that judgmental but at times loving family ripped out from under her.

Most times she is grateful for her experience. She honestly is. She has experienced more than most people could ever dream of. She has found the best friends, fame, influence, and her soul mate. But sometimes she wonders why she couldn't have just had a normal life. She was no one special. Her parents just happened to be wealthy and she just happened to have odd hair. Everything from that just spiraled out of control.

"It isn't fair!" she screams. This whole thing… she squeezes her eyes tightly shut and imagines that when she opens them, the world will be back to normal. She will be thirteen again, crying because her parents are tyrannical and the people of town whisper about her hair behind her back.

And for moment she thinks it has actually worked. Arms are winding around her, squeezing her close. A warm hand is running long fingers through her damned hair. She relaxes. It has worked. Everything was just one long intense dream.

Then she recognizes the masculine scent mixed with the smell of fire. She notices how unnaturally hot the arms around her are. She wipes her nose on his shirt, causing him to make an irritated, protesting noise that morphs into a sigh as he wipes away her tears.

"They're stupid."

"I know."

"They don't matter."

"I know."

"You're beautiful," he says fiercely, and she thinks that he would fry anyone who dared to argue that point right now. She smiles and presses her head into his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his arms encompassing her.

"Thank you," she whispers weakly. Then he scoops her up like she is a child and carries her out of the changing room. He begins to walk briskly towards where they are staying, a little bed and breakfast a few miles inland. She starts to protest, insisting that he can't possibly carry her all the way, but apparently he can, because before she knows it he is lying her down on her bed.

He presses a kiss on her forehead and leaves to go to his room. Slowly, she drifts to sleep, still feeling the ghost of his kiss on her brow.


	3. Chapter 3

**So I know these aren't the best pieces but I'm trying to get my writers block to go away. I think I kinda see my preferred writing style coming back into play. Please REVIEW and tell me what you think. **

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><p>She is of medium height and slim in an athletic way. She has fair skin with rosy cheeks and wide green eyes set in a face of delicate features. Her mouth is small with pink lips. She has a long, elegant neck and she holds herself up proudly. The most stunning of her features is the unnatural hair, the color of the sun, honey, and palomino horses. It tumbles down her back, mostly straight with the occasional wave.<p>

She has this sort of self-conscious nervous habit where she nibbles on her bottom lip and glances up at the world around her through thick black eyelashes. He thinks it's adorable.

He is only a few inches taller than her, but he has a large presence. Even among men a foot taller than him, he stands out. His dark hair is shaggy, drooping down into his face, splitting to reveal narrowed golden eyes. One is encompassed by an angry red scar. It looks old, yet still painful. His eyelashes, like hers, are thick and dark. His nose is very delicate, aristocratic. His skin is pale, paler than hers, pale so that if he didn't so obviously radiate vibrant youth and health, he might look sickly. His chin is slightly pointed, but it looks good on him, with his high cheekbones and haughty arrogance that he carries.

He slouches when he's grouchy, which is often. His shoulders slump in, his back curves out, his nose wrinkles up in disgust. He lowers his head and glares up at people through those eyelashes. She tells him that look doesn't suit him, but they both know it does.

Together, they made a lovely couple. They like to hold hands. He likes how her small hands fit inside his large ones. She likes how his callouses rub against her palm, which has its own toughness from her bow. Their hands mark their trade and the roughness of their lives thus far.

They see other couples and wonder how different they are. It is noticeable. They only seem to make each other unhappier at times, yet they pine when they are apart. She blames it on his stubborn ways, he on her relentless passion. Yet they love those characteristics within each other.

They know that they will be separated soon, though neither knows for how long. It makes each moment precious, yet just adds to the bickering and the sullenness. They always make up. There are always mumbled apologies and earnest acceptance, but in the back of their minds they know that the fight is never over. They're both afraid of happiness. They've admitted it, they just don't know how to fix it.

"I just don't get why you have to make it complicated," she says to him.

"I just don't get why you think it's so simple," he says back.

Then they drop the conversation, because they've had it so many times before they will know how it ends. Their fights are always the same. They fight about the future. They fight about it because it is unknown, because it will not be simple, like she hopes it will be. He fights because he is scared he will lose her. She fights because she is scared of being without him. They fight for the same reason, yet they can never agree.

"It's not just what I want," he says to her.

"Isn't that all that matters?" she says back.

And the worst part is that they are both right. And they are both wrong. So how are they ever supposed to find the answer?

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><p><strong>REVIEW PLEASE!<strong>


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